


Your Burdens I Will Bear

by aimmyarrowshigh, spacesbetweenseconds



Category: Stereo Kicks (Band)
Genre: Bath Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Thighs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesbetweenseconds/pseuds/spacesbetweenseconds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Walsh changes Stereo Kicks' "Big Band" song with 28 hours until showtime.  Tom feels like he's losing control, and Barclay shows him that isn't such a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Burdens I Will Bear

Tom never thought they would get this far.

He definitely had dreams about finding out they'd be able to join some of the standout acts on the tour, but after getting cut last year, and almost cut this year, he was afraid to let himself hope. But they did it. They made it on the tour. He's still nervous, of course, but it feels like he's finally about to see those dreams turn into a reality.

So when Louis Walsh approaches the band at 4pm the day before they have to perform and tells them he's changed their song, the reality he's built up in his head comes crashing down faster than he can even say, "Sorry, what?"

Tom isn't stupid. He knows that the 'big band' theme almost sets up Stereo Kicks -- _already such a big band, hyuk hyuk hyuk_. But this is sabotage. It has to be. They've only just stood back up after Halloween week and the stage invader and now Louis Walsh has pulled the rug out from under them.

Again.

And they can't even rehearse tonight, because Charlie is so goddamn little that he legally can't work after 10.

He's just. He wants people to take them seriously, and it feels like everything is working against them. And he wants this to happen for himself. But there's a part of him that wants his band to succeed for all their sakes just as much. Somewhere down the line, all Daddy jokes aside, he really has become their minder, and he doesn't want to see them get hurt.

And his head is pounding, and this is the last thing he wants to work around right now.

He hugged Charlie for a long time before Mummy Jones had to take him home, because Charlie couldn't stop crying again and -- it isn't his fault. Tom might resent that they can't always rehearse as much because of Charlie's age, but that isn't _Charlie's_ fault. He won't let him think so. No one else was up to cheering him, so it fell to Tom.

Everything always falls to Tom.

Sometimes he wishes he wasn't the oldest, but more than that he wishes he didn't feel the need to take everything on his shoulders. Just once, _just once_ , he wants Louis to act like a mentor and actually care about this band, so Tom can focus on taking care of them and let someone else handle the musical stuff.

He wants to make sure everything is okay, but. He's no Superman.

The room is silent for the first time ever when he heads upstairs after ruffling Charlie's hair and promising that yes, he can text, but he does need to get his sleep tonight. 

James, Casey, and Chris all have headphones on. Tom can hear Casey and Chris both listening to their vocal parts on top volume, eyes dead and staring at the top of their bunks. James has Nicki Minaj blaring through his -- avoiding his problems like always.

Jake is nowhere to be found, probably up on the roof smoking with Ben. Reece is already curled up in Jake's bed, sound asleep and clutching a pillow like it's a teddy bear.

Tom closes his eyes, his hands pressed to his temples. Maybe if he thinks really hard, he can send out a distress call to Barclay without having to move or say anything. He's still not a superhero, but surely the past year has resulted in some kind of telepathic connection between the two of them. That's how friendship works.

Maybe Barclay didn't get the memo.

"Does anyone need anything?" Tom asks, his eyes still closed. His voice is too loud in this room. Has it always been so high-pitched? It's grating. Even to himself.

No one even notices him talking, all so wrapped up in the music they're listening to, all so desperate to pretend that everything's okay. It makes Tom's stomach do flips.

The silence is even more grating than the sound of his voice, though, so he opens his eyes very slowly and decides to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. "I'm going to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Guys, try to not to stress." Rich, coming from him. "Get some sleep. Okay?"

"Yeah, alright, Dad," James says, offering Tom a strained smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Tom closes the door behind him when he leaves. The boys don't need to deal with Other Charlie and Lauren laughing at the top of their lungs in the next room right now.

No one's in the kitchen when Tom gets there, which is probably for the best, as he's not sure he could make small talk with Parisa about anything right now. They both know the show can't have too many bands when it gets to a certain point, and it leads to something of a forced us-or-them dynamic between them and his boys. He likes her just fine, likes the rest of Only The Young, but he's happy to just enjoy his water in silence.

He sits on the counter next to the sink for easy refilling, and holds his water glass with two hands like it's a security blanket. He's mid-sip when Barclay walks in fresh from the shower, looking as relaxed as Tom would like to be. He's got nothing on but his sweats, and despite the defined lines of the muscles in his torso, he always looks incredibly soft like this.

Barclay looks around and then meets Tom's eyes. He scratches the little hairs at the back of his neck and whispers, "Hi, love," like Tom is an easily startled animal.

Tom's mouth is full of water and his hands are full of glass, so all he can do is nod.

Barclay seems to understand him anyway. His hands encircle Tom's ankles completely when he steps up between Tom's legs.

"Are you a child's toy? Because you look very _wound up_." Barclay's pun falls a bit flat, but Tom swallows his water and offers a bit of a chuckle.

"You always know what to say, Barcs."

"I try," Barclay says modestly. He rolls his thumb over the ball of Tom's ankle. "Are all the others alright?"

"Sort of. Charlie left feeling pretty torn up, and Reece is already passed out, poor thing. Everyone else is trying to learn their new parts." Well. Almost everyone else, anyway. "I don't know what to do."

"Do you have to do anything?" Barclay shuffles even closer, wraps Tom's legs around his waist and runs his hands up Tom's thighs. "That's not your job, really. You aren't our mentor. Our so-called mentor."

"Sometimes it feels like I have to do everything," Tom says with a sigh, as if he's admitting a weakness. And maybe he is. He knows it's not his job, but sometimes he needs reminding, just like Charlie does, that things going wrong aren't his fault. Barclay's hands are a godsend, his fingers spanning nearly the whole top of Tom's thigh.

It feels nice, being the one who's taken care of.

Barclay nuzzles his nose into Tom's hair before he presses his lips to Tom's forehead. "If you want, you don't have to do anything the rest of the night. I'll do it all for you."

"That sounds lovely." Tom licks his lips. "Please?"

"As you wish," Barclay says, with an especially cheeky wink. His hands move from Tom's legs to underneath him bum, getting a good grip and lifting Tom up off the counter. He could've done it himself, but, he supposes that's not the point. Not tonight.

The only thing Tom can do is squeeze his thighs around Barclay's waist so that he doesn't fall as Barclay carries him up the stairs. Normally, Tom would fuss and refuse, because really, he doesn't like it being pointed out just how small he is, but it's nice. He'll never admit it. But it's nice.

It's not like Tom can follow his own feet, but it doesn't feel like they're going to their own room for some good old-fashioned cuddling, but. Well. He's not mad that this is where his night is going. Barclay is right; he needs to unwind.

When they reach the door to one of the bathrooms, Tom can see the cogs turning in Barclay's head by the furrow of his brow, so he wraps his arms around Barclay's neck to free up one of the hands on his arse. He feels a bit like a baby sloth, which is not the sexiest thought he's had all day.

"Cheers, love." Barclay always manages to sound so cheerful. And it's not just that he sounds it: Barclay is one of the most... satisfied people that Tom's ever met. Even when everything's going wrong, Barclay can find some tiny thing and it's like the biggest, best thing in the world.

Sometimes, with the way Barclay looks at Tom...sometimes he feels like he's that tiny thing.

Even thinking about that is the best Tom's felt all night, and he can feel some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Feet down." Barclay lets Tom slide down until he's standing on the cold tile floor. His toes curl.

"Didn't you just shower?"

"Yes," Barclay admits. "But that was for getting clean. This is for getting dirty."

Tom snorts. "Class, you are."

Barclay bends over to start the taps running for the bath, reaching his hand underneath to check the temperature. Tom absolutely does not take the time to look at Barclay's perfectly sculpted bum in his sweats.

When the tub fills up, it's just a shade too warm, exactly how Tom likes it. It's enough to loosen his muscles, but not quite enough to give him a full body flush. He might flush from this bath anyway, but for entirely different reasons, like the warm, slow hunger behind Barclay's gaze.

Barclay runs the tip of his finger across Tom's belly just beneath the hem of his top. "Arms up."

Tom obliges. He relishes the feeling of Barclay's fingers as they slide up his body, his t-shirt sliding up with them. He takes a deep breath after it comes off, and Barclay tosses it to the other side of the room.

Barclay kisses Tom's shoulder. "Good. Now take those trousers off for me."

"You too, then. We haven't got all night," Tom jokes, unbuttoning his flies. He pulls the zipper down, hooking his thumbs into his boxers so he can pull everything off at once. The room is a bit cooler than he'd been expecting, but that only makes the promise of the bath even better. When he looks up and sees Barclay naked as well, his breath catches. He's just. He's. Beautiful doesn't really do it justice.

Barclay steps into the tub, gets settled at the back, with his legs spread and his arms resting on the edges.

Tom stands at the side. "Is there room?"

"You're pint-sized," Barclay says, rolling his eyes. "Not even. Shotglass-sized."

Tom's eyes narrow. He resents that. "I'm perfectly human-sized, thank you."

He crawls in along with Barclay, scooting back until his back is pressed to Barclay's chest, and he rests his head back on Barclay's shoulder. It feels _amazing_.

It's not a fancy bath. They are men, after all, as James was so clear to express in their first twitcam when they were asked. But there's still nothing better for stress than to lie in a hot bath.

They just lie there for a little while, soaking and letting the day melt away. Silence between them feels better than the silence in the room earlier, maybe because they're both on their way to relaxed, and that room was so tense he could taste it.

"You're thinking. I can _feel_ you thinking. Stop it," Barclay says, his own head lolling back against the lip of the bathtub.

"I can't stop thinking. My brain's in my head. It's just what brains do. Mine, at least. I can't speak for everyone. It's probably not true at-fucking-all for Louis Walsh."

Barclay laughs, and Tom can feel it rumble through his chest. "If you mention his name again while we're naked, I might never get hard ever again. Just so you know the consequences," Barclay says, adopting a faux grave tone. "But feel free to say it."

"Noted. I just. If it's not my job, then the person whose job it is should probably do it. That's all."

Barclay kisses just behind Tom's ear. "Yeah. It'd be nice. But if it were easy, it wouldn't be on telly. We'd just... go into A&R rooms and play a demo and that'd be it."

"Barclay Beales: the Voice of Reason." Tom rolls his head so his cheek is pressed against Barclay's chest. "I just want it to be okay, you know?"

"And it will be. Or, if it isn't, it will have nothing to do with us." Barclay gently rubs his hands up and down Tom's biceps, keeping up a soothing rhythm. "We're going to do our best and hope it's good enough."

Tom pouts. He can't help it. "I hate that. I want to have some control over my own life, you know? And I don't here. I _hate_ that."

"I know, babe." Barclay's voice is so soft and smoky. "But sometimes, you have to give up a bit of control to feel better."

"But it's hard," Tom whines.

"Is it now?" Barclay's wink is practically audible.

"Oh, you're awful. Absolutely awful. You know what I meant."

"I do. I like to think I usually know what you're on about." The water swishes as Barclay shifts them around a bit. "But I also like to think I'm onto some things you aren't yet. And I can take care of you, you know, if you want to give up a bit of control for a little while. Not about anything big, mind. Not the whole... future. But just like... this bath. Maybe an orgasm or two. I don't know."

Letting go sounds nice. More than nice. It sounds like exactly what he's been looking for. Even if it's just for a bit, Tom wouldn't mind letting someone else take the reins. Especially if it's Barclay.

He trusts Barclay.

"Yeah, I think I'd really like that," he says with a soft smile.

Barclay kisses his ear again. His lips are as soft as his stubble is sharp. The contrast makes Tom shiver. "Lovely."

Tom feels firm but gentle hands move to his shoulders, sure thumbs kneading away at the knots there. He closes his eyes, relaxing into Barclay's touch.

"You don't have to carry tension for all eight of us, you know." Barclay's hands are so sure. "Just take a few deep breaths for me and relax."

As soon as Barclay says it, Tom feels the muscles in his shoulders loosen. His breaths fall into a slow, deep rhythm, and they feel like they're filling him up completely, his entire chest and everywhere else until all he's thinking about is breathing in and out. His thoughts feel like honey, like he doesn't have to worry about anything but listening for the sound of Barclay's voice. He can't help but let out a quiet moan when Barclay presses into a knot in his back just right, holds pressure on it until he can feel himself starting to come undone.

Barclay ducks down to kiss Tom's shoulder just there. "That's better, isn't it?"

Tom nods, shifts a little in Barclay's lap.

Barclay submerges his hands in the water, letting them rest on Tom's thighs. With no pressure at all, just a calming touch, he moves his fingers, bending them and then straightening them out again, rubbing up against the hair there.

Tom sighs, his head lolling back to rest against Barclay's broad chest again. There used to be soft hair there, too, that tickled against Tom's cheek, but it's gone now. Tom misses it more than he would have thought.

Barclay's hands start to move upwards, bypassing his hips completely and making their way up to his chest, his fingers splayed as he feels all the places where Tom is just a bit soft. Tom didn't think he was desperate for Barclay to touch him, but he can't stop the little whimper he lets out.

" _Relax_ ," Barclay reminds him with the tiniest punishing nip of his teeth against Tom's ear. "I'm taking care of you."

"Mmhm," Tom's voice is low, sounding more like a groan than anything else. He bites his lower lip, letting it slowly slide back out from between his teeth, berry red and plump.

He doesn't usually -- they aren't like this very often. Even between the two of them, Tom is usually the one in charge.

Usually, he's more than happy to let it be that way, and Barclay doesn't complain when that's how it plays out. But Tom isn't going to act like he doesn't like the way this feels. Maybe they should think about doing this more. He likes getting pampered, even though Barclay is taking it as an opportunity to tease as much as he can.

Instead of worrying about tomorrow, Tom's whole brain is wrapped up in trying to predict where Barclay will touch him next, what he'll do, whether Tom can psychically convince him where to move his hands.

Barclay's thumbs are moving agonizingly slow around his nipples, just enough for Tom to feel the ghost of a touch as they go around in circles, not quite running over the hardening nubs. When Tom feels the thumbs actually run across the middle of his nipples, a shiver travels through his whole body, the anticipation making every single touch more intense.

He didn't even know his nipples felt that much. Then again, he hasn't actually tried.

Barclay's onto something.

"See?" Barclay murmurs. He sounds entirely too pleased with himself. "Just trust me."

"I do," Tom murmurs, his whole body feeling like there's a current running steadily through it. Barclay's fingers slide back down his torso and come back to where his thighs meet his hips. So close, and yet so far. His thumbs trace the creases between his legs and his crotch, enough pressure to feel like it's more than a tease, but still building up that anticipation that served him well earlier.

Tom shifts again. It's strange: the water should dull sensation, but he can still feel Barclay clearly. The pressure of Barclay's cock filling up, getting hard, pressing against Tom's bum. The prickle of the hair under his arms tickling against Tom's shoulders as Barclay wraps him up close. Everything is very... present.

He hadn't been paying attention to his own, too tied up in the sensations everywhere else on his body, but feeling Barclay hard and wanting behind him makes him realize just how hard he is too, pulsing and desperate for some attention.

Barclay seems to be done with teasing for now, because he finally, _finally_ takes Tom in his hand, pumps once up and down his length, and says, "Why don't I take care of this now?"

Tom starts to nod, then pauses. "If that's what you want to do. I wouldn't, you know. Mind."

Barclay's mouth splits into a smile against Tom's cheek.

 

The water makes the drag of his hand--sure as it's been all night--feel smooth and so, so good. Tom's not usually one to lose it over a hand, hasn't been since he was younger than Reece, but with the way Barclay's teeth drag lightly over his earlobe, still teasing even with a hand moving at a steady pace on his cock, he doesn't think he'll last very long at all.

"It's nice, isn't it, letting someone else do something for you," Barclay says softly. "Maybe you get it now why I like it so much."

"Yeah." Tom's barely speaking -- it's just breath. "I wouldn't... be opposed. To some more of this."

"More of this?" Barclay asks, his thumb dragging over Tom's slit, making Tom gasp for breath.

Tom nods and shifts again, back over Barclay's cock so that it drags in the crevice of his bum, not enough but so close.

Barclay starts to move his hand faster, twisting his wrist and gripping with just a little more pressure, biting his bottom lip with determination. He moves his hips at just the right angle to make his cock catch on the rim of Tom's hole for no more than a second, just enough to give Tom a taste of what he could have.

He hasn't, before.

That was giving up a bit too much control, really. But it doesn't seem like it anymore.

Maybe it's not so scary. Maybe if it's Barclay he's giving control to, it would make a difference.

"Can...?" Tom trails off, his tongue unsure how even to ask. It might break the spell if he asks.

Barclay slows his pulls only marginally, only so that Tom can tell he's listening. "I didn't put anything in the pockets of my sweats." He turns Tom's head towards his with a finger on his chin. "I don't want it to hurt you."

"I...I just..." He wants Barclay to know his thoughts. Even though they're a jumbled mess right now, he knows he needs something more than this.

"I have an idea. Here." Barclay fumbles around behind them for a moment.

"Budge up a bit," Barclay urges, one hand on Tom's hip. "I'm not -- I can't go, like. Inside. This time. Not like this. But here."

Tom complies, hearing the snick of a cap opening behind him as he moves up to rest just above Barclay's hips. He's not sure what they're going to do, but he knows Barclay will make him feel good one way or another. Barclay's taking care of him, after all.

Barclay makes a soft noise behind him, and then his hands are on Tom's hips again, a few bubbles popping in the water beside his hand. He guides Tom back down again. "Can you squeeze your thighs together for me, love?"

Tom presses his legs together, nice and tight, his bottom lip between his teeth and his neck craned to look back at Barclay. His eyes are always so warm, even in this sex haze they're both in. He feels Barclay's cock nudging at the back of his thighs, and when it pushes between them and Barclay lets out a groan, Tom feels a flush color his chest. He did that. He made Barclay make that sound. He wants to do it again.

This feels -- it feels strange, honestly, because it shouldn't be sexy. It should be funny, really. But it's not. It is sexy, and Tom can feel the drag of Barclay's cock across his hole with every slow thrust and it's frustrating but it's good.

Barclay holds onto Tom's hip with one hand, and gets Tom's cock back in his other hand, thrusting between his thighs and matching the rhythm of his dick with his hand's movement.

"Oh. _Oh_ ," Tom says, feeling a little overwhelmed, but in a good way. In the best way.

Barclay keep Tom held tight with an arm around his ribs. "If you like this... you'll love when I'm really in you. If you still want, after Sunday."

"I do, I do want," Tom says breathily. Everything is happening at once, and Barclay's voice is smoky and low and he wants to live inside of it. Tom wonders what it's like to look up into Barclay's eyes as he slides inside. "Tell me more. I'm so..."

"Take my time," Barclay mutters, like he can't even bother to organize his thoughts like this. "Get you all spread out for me, begging for it."

"God, I--" Barclay's dick brushes up against Tom's balls on a particularly hard thrust, and that paired with his hand's ministrations sends him over the edge, breathing heavily as he shoots up his own chest. Barclay strokes him through it, still thrusting, chasing his own. Tom keeps his thighs as tight as he can now that he's come, moving to make a loose fist where the head of Barclay's cock keeps pushing through, teasing at his slit every time he comes up. "We're. God, you're going to be _inside me_ ," Tom says softly, voice full of wonder.

Barclay just grunts at that and hauls Tom closer, almost too tight. It's all Tom can do to rest his head back against Barclay's shoulder. He's fucked Barclay so many times, but he's never really thought -- really -- about how incredible that is until now.

Barclay thrusts two,maybe three more times, but Tom can tell he needs just a little extra push. He turns his face around as much as he can, resting his hand on Barclay's cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. He thrusts his tongue into Barclay's mouth, mimicking what's happening between his legs.

He bites at Barclay's lip, eyes open. He doesn't want to miss the moment Barclay's eyelids flutter and his pretty cheekbones tighten and his forehead draws down close as he comes, whole face overwhelmed.

He draws back, pressing a few more light kisses to Barclay's slack mouth, his own twisting up into a lazy smile. After another moment of silence he says, "I liked that. That was nice."

Barclay opens one eye and looks incredulous. "Well, I guess I'll try harder next time. _Nice_."

"Well, next time will be bit different," Tom says softly, and some water sloshes over the side of the tub as he turns around to face Barclay properly. The water is grimy with come and shower gel, but he figures the scents cancel each other out and they're still probably clean enough.

Barclay presses a sloppy kiss to Tom's cheek, his hand on the other one, thumb rubbing the roughness where his beard will come in, if the makeup department ever lets it. "I can't wait."

They drain the tub, which has gone over almost-cold anyway, and then run a shower just to clean up the remnants of come that are soaked into their skin. Barclay gets back in his sweats, but he only wraps Tom in a towel to go back to the room.

It's still quiet when they arrive, but it's not the same tense, angry silence as it was earlier. Jake's returned, curled like a comma back-to-back with Reece in the little bunk because they're both munchkins. James has swapped out Nicki Minaj for Tinie Tempah.

Casey and Chris have both fallen asleep, headphones still in, their song for tomorrow probably still playing in their ears. The creases between their eyebrows have disappeared in sleep, and even with the change in music, James doesn't look as dead as he did before.

He's the only one awake enough to look up when Barclay quietly closes the door behind Tom. "You get Tom sorted, mate?"

Barclay squeezes Tom's shoulder and they share a quick smile before he looks back up at James. "Yeah. Think so."

James flops back onto his bunk. It creaks, and Chris kicks up in James' general direction. "Good. We need 'im."

Tom's not Superman. He's not.

But if he were, well. Sometimes even heroes need saving.

Tom flicks his damp towel at James' head. He skips pants and just slides into a pair of Barclay's too-big sweats while James splutters and tries to get the towel off his face.

Barclay climbs into bed, holding his arms wide open so Tom can climb right into them. He cuddles up close to Barclay, resting his head on Barclay's chest. "Hey Barcs?"

"Yeah?" Barclay turns his head to look at Tom.

"Thanks. Y'know. For taking care of me."

Barclay kisses Tom once and then pulls the blankets up to their shoulders. "Thank you for letting me."


End file.
